


Piu maximo mosso.  http://www.oocities.org/briargoeth/piu.html

by iskierka



Category: Angel The Series, buffy the vampire slalyer: a series
Genre: F/F, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:03:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iskierka/pseuds/iskierka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>thank you to the goth girl  violinists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Piu maximo mosso.  http://www.oocities.org/briargoeth/piu.html

So her back is to the wall that feels like red silk, legs spread and outstretched without mastered grace on the floor like her bottom. 

Colors are swirly and dancing like faery smoke. Dervishes of delight. Air holds her gaze as she stares in lurid, vacant fascination. Plumes of lambent hues forming before her eyes seem to coax...hazy soothing of lit vibrancy...

This is better than the sun. A vision of pastel fire, animated pearlescent globes which spoke in tongues of whispered somethings she couldn't quite discern. Leaning forward gifts the insight- ah! She receives the message dewy-eyed and keening intuition. Ebullient and pleased at herself with eyes drawn to the source...  
an inspired, gentle art of caressing *warmth.* 

She giggles. It promises peace. Somehow despite the undisputed shaft of truth relegated, barred and thus hovering at the farthest borders, the barest edges of a flown and corrugated consciousness she all too willingly chooses to ignore is some dim and persistive burr. Tenacious, vaguely scraping against the delicate material of the still-soft and oscillating mind. 

A scuffle of feet approaching. The fabric of the bubble-dream is being torn by the irritant. Drucilla so very ugly in all-too-real fish-gape "O" of that familiar dirty mouth. Body immobile and piqued. Lines of her dress blocking out all the patchwork beauty- Damnedly tangible. 

"Rrarrgh!" 

"What is it grann ma-maa? 

Curiosity and wonder in that wheedling voice, raking against chiffon. Intrusive and breaking apart the spicy honey flavor of the past two hours. 

"Unh. Go away." 

"Oooh." 

"What?" 

"The rams have gone a-fleecing."

Veil dissipates. Her voice bends with something akin to pain. 

"Where?" 

"To roam a bit. Taste the nearby provinces." Drusilla mulls over the moment. 

"I think they peer about for someone. Father roots about, but my Spike is *searching.*" 

"Angelus," Darla murmurs. So fixed, so set. So wrong. Looks up at the other woman crossly, or the form of one at any rate. She employs a cat-faced grimace, and shirks back slightly with disgust and suspicion when the other nears. 

Drusilla kneels by Darla's side, eyeing the flounces and clenched fingers. Reaches out like a kitten pawing at string. 

"What kind of music does your pipe play?" 

fic index  
disclaimer at the front door


End file.
